


The Phantom Student

by ameliacareful



Series: Strangers and Brothers [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Sam's Not at Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliacareful/pseuds/ameliacareful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is not exactly a student at Stanford.  But that doesn't mean he can't get a college education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phantom Student

            November at Stanford. Professor Majumdar wasn’t expecting anyone at office hours. Midterms had been trashed through. Finals were looming. It was the lull between. He was answering emails and trying to think how he could turn the paper he was working on into a topic to submit for a conference in Copenhagen who’s subject was ‘A High Tide Lifts All Boats: Changes in Global Economy’. His wife wanted to go to Europe. The ivory tower.

            He didn’t recognize the student who knocked on his half open door.

            “Excuse me, Professor?” the boy said. He was very tall and a bit scruffy, longish brown hair in with a center part. Really tall. For a moment there was something about the kid that made him nervous, something that said _not student, intruder_. Which was absurd because clothing from thrift stores was a thing.

            “Can I help you?” Dave Majumdar tried to place him. Maybe the kid was from his sophomore lecture in Economics and Developing Nations? It was a big class and he didn’t know all of them but the kid was distinctive and he should remember him.

            “Hi, I’m actually not in your 421 Seminar but I know Brady and I’m doing an independent study on the effect of the policies of the World Bank on developing nations.” Brady, classic Stanford student, charming, smart, driven. Check. “He said you were offering a course in Third World Policy next semester and I was wondering if I could get a copy of your syllabus when it was ready?”

            “Sure,” Dave said. “Come in. Have a seat. What makes you interested in World Bank policies?” It was an unexpected request. Teachers read each others syllabuses but it was a running joke among faculty that if you didn’t want students to know something, the best place to hide it was in the syllabus.

            The kid slid in and draped himself in a chair, all long ragged jeans, and plunked down a ragged backpack.

Dave’s was your standard academic office. Size of a closet. Bookshelves, a desk, a couple of chairs. “I dunno,” the kid said. “I listen to a lot of NPR, in the summer. I have a job that means I spend a lot of time driving.” The kid smiled and looked younger. “They talk about it a lot on Marketplace. They were talking about Venezuela and how with their oil money they can basically tell the World Bank to stuff it.”

            “You think that’s a good idea?”

            The kid bit his bottom lip, thoughtful. He had eyes that tilted slightly. Good looking once you got past the shaggy haircut. “I don’t know that much about it. I found this article in _The Economist_. Do you think the World Bank makes too many assumptions? You know, about all economies functioning like developed nations in Europe and North America?”

            It was a surprising thing for an undergraduate to say. “Is your family involved in diplomacy?” Dave asked. The children of the well off tended to be handsome.

            The boy genuinely laughed. “No. Not at all. Not my family.”

            He teased some ideas out for the kid. Dangled the Singapore economic miracle in front of him. Japan and Korea. The kid asked about debt rates in Africa. Not doing that thing where he was showing off his knowledge but genuinely asking, completely not sure in an honestly insecure way. A lot of Dave’s students were insecure but they were also entitled in a way this one wasn’t. Scholarship boy. Dave found himself deep in an explanation of the way colonial governments drew lines across existing tribes in Africa.

            All of the sudden it hit him. The kid knew Brady. Brady was recording all his 421 seminars.

            “You’re _him_ ,” he said and he couldn’t believe the kid was in front of him. Like spotting a real like unicorn.

            There was a flash of fear so fast across the kid’s face it would have been easy to miss and then he just looked confused.

            “You’re The Phantom Student. You took my American Economics class. George Chen recorded for you.”

            The kid blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Don’t worry,” Dave said. “Nobody’s going to tell the administration.”

            The kid’s face went still.

            “A couple of us have figured it out. You’ve mapped out the equivalent of a degree. You get someone to record the class for you, you buy the books or something, you do the coursework, but you’re not enrolled.”

            The boy blinked, shook his head like he had no idea what Dave was talking about but he was totally rattled and he dropped his head to hide behind his bangs.

            “I was so glad to have you in my class,” Dave said, “I mean, so to speak. You know, you were good for George. He really contributed, you lit a fire under him. You become a study buddy or something, don’t you?”

            “Professor, I don’t know who you think I am—”

            “When you submitted that paper for review to the TA last year, it was really good. That’s what blew your cover, kid. It was just too good. Otherwise, you were right, nobody would have paid any attention, it just would have gotten comments and been emailed back.” Dave stood up and extended his hand. “There’s about four of us who have started tracking your progress. I am so glad to meet someone who just wants to learn.”

            “I gotta go,” the kid said. He grabbed his backpack.

            “No,” Dave said. Damn it, he should have kept his mouth shut. “Really, don’t freak. Keep doing it. Find someone next semester and get them to record my class. If you want to, send me your papers. I’ll send you comments. I can suggest things for you to read.”

            The kid was halfway out the door but he looked over his shoulder.

            “Please,” Dave said. He could see him looking, wanting to come back. Tempted. “I can recommend a great book on Africa,” he said.

            “Professor Majumdar,” the boy said, “I…I wish I could, but I, I can’t. But thank you. Your classes were great.”

            And he was gone.

            Dave Majumdar stood for a moment, so furious at himself he he didn’t know what to do. He walked to the door and looked down the hallway. The boy was long gone. “Brilliant, Dave,” he said to himself. “Just brilliant.”

            He would talk to Brady, see if Brady could lure the boy back to at least monitoring classes. Brady was a nice kid. Stanford kids were mostly nice because courtesy is the currency of the rich. Upper middle class kids and rich kids. Trained to achieve on their SATs, groomed like race horses for a very particular race, to get to a very good school. Hungry for the prize. Not like the one who had just been here who was just…hungry.

            He grabbed his mug and a tea bag and went down to the main office for hot water. Sarah Chaikin was in her office.

            “Sarah,” he said and plopped into her seat. “I think I just fucked up.”

            “Dave,” she said. “What’s new?”

            “He was here and I think I scared him away.”

            “Who?” she asked.

            He told her.


End file.
